I feel like such a fool for thinking things might be different for once. I realize that we were in a hurry, a mad dash to escape with our lives, but still, one would hope that a bond formed by sharing a common horrid adversity would be a bit stronger.
I don’t dare take singular credit for our escape. Dear little Vorbis and those here before us did much crawling through dark and disgusting places, facing great danger. Others did what they could as well, those in the Fields pocketing supplies, watching for opportunities, and those in the Library and Lab doing the same. Despite this, it still stands that I did a great deal as well and my reward is what I should have expected, not simply being ignored, but being ridiculed. When I made contact with Mr. Fish, to whom I didn’t even get to say goodbye, they chuckled like I was some idiot child with an imaginary friend. Yet when they wanted his blessings, they forgot I was even standing right there introducing them. When I guessed that the mysterious purple light was the strange curse Mr. Fish spoke of, the very key to our escape, nothing, not even “good idea,” “glad you though of that,” or heavens forbid “thank you,” not a single word. I even helped destroy that foul creature, our last obstacle to escaping, and still nothing. In that case, I understand expediency over taking the need for praise, and yet it infuriates me that they would call me such hateful things for my gifts and then won’t even show an ounce of appreciation when those same gifts help to save their own lives.
The same hurtful words spoken by townsfolk who’ve known me my whole life are now barbs being turned against me by those whom I would have hoped would see past my strangeness to someone who has tried very hard to be brave and to help. They forget I had to endure this ordeal with an added horror sitting in the pit of stomach, thank the gods that did not, has not yet, come to pass. I doubt they would care even if they remembered. Neither do they have families with children to worry about returning to.
I feel like nothing better than a tool. Cart me out when I’m needed and forget about me when I’m not, nay, even tools are cared for, not kicked and despised for their function until they are needed.
If the others don’t wish to return to Diamond Lake when we reach the surface, then I’ll be glad for the parting. I’m sure Brother Thain will want to see me safely home, I trust in his loyalty. They even ridicule him, the fools, when he could best any of them he chose.
Perhaps the others are simply lashing out under stress, trying to feel control again in a situation in which control over their own fates has been robbed from them. Perhaps they are simply no different than anyone else in Diamond Lake and I’m even more of a fool for trying to find reasons to excuse their behavior. In either event, I’m unsure if I will be able to control my temper or my gifts if I hear such colorful epithets for me used again. Try ignoring me when I draw the very air from your lungs… Help me, Grandmother Embeth, to remember that “sticks and stones” saying… although there are days when I would prefer the sticks and stones. I just want to hold my sisters again…
(OOCC: This is strictly Eirene talking. Lieske might be mildly annoyed, but I’m not seriously ticked off or anything (Thunder Thighs was pretty amusing). I’m simply choosing to explore a slightly darker avenue of character development. She’s feeling torn and this is called “Dark Exodus” after all, emphasis on the Dark part. Though I will say one thing, remember Nualia and Sandpoint? I really don’t think we want a replay of that now do we? With the names changed to Eirene and Diamond Lake?)